Dance Dance Revolution
by dtlimited
Summary: Of blurred boundaries, dance recitals, and not so brotherly love. Multi-chapter. Dasey.
1. Prologue

After seeing Derek and Casey's uber--unsibling-like and intensely charged dance routine, I couldn't help but write a fic. Really, there was no other option.

Also, one note: I'm being pretty loose with the time line (not that it's ever really clear on the show either, lol). For the purposes of this story, Derek and Sally are broken up, but still working together. Also, Casey and Max are through, too.

--

**Prologue**

--

_PRESENT TIME_

_--_

If he could just stop caring about her…

He knocked on her door again, his head lying heavy on the wood. "Can we just talk? Without the screaming?"

"I _HATE YOU_!!!"

_I'll take that as a 'no'_, Derek thought wryly.

He sighed. "How many times do I have to say 'I'm sorry?'"

"_UNTIL YOU MEAN IT!!_"

"_I DO MEAN IT, YOU CRAZY SPAZZO!"_

"I'M NOT A SPAZZO! YOU—YOU ASS!!"

"Oh, how original."

He cursed and there was a burning in his fist. Oh, right, must have been that whole punching the wall thing he'd done without thinking. Derek grimaced and nursed his fist as he stalked outside her door.

They'd been here before—literally dozens of times over the last three years. He'd prank her. She'd nag him. He'd insult her. She'd rat him out. They'd both do nothing, and then they'd argue for the just hell of it. Fighting was not new. It was required.

But, then sometimes…they fought for real.

And, that generally sucked.

"_You really hurt my feelings_!" came Casey's voice again, still booming yet softer round the edges.

"Oh, really? I wouldn't have guessed that from you throwing a hissy fit and barricading yourself in your bedroom."

"_You don't even care about me_!"

"Right. And, this is me showing how much I UN-care about you: by standing outside your door arguing with you like an idiot for twenty minutes straight."

His voice was glib, sarcastic. His eyes were stormy, intense. His body was stiff as he stood there, arms folded across his chest.

"Open the stupid door!" he shouted before his brain could catch up with his nerves.

"_Make me!"_

"Maybe I will!"

"_Maybe you won't_!"

_Touche, _he thought dryly. He wasn't a fireman—no matter how many times Marti had made him dress up like one. He couldn't exactly kick through the door with his brute strength either. Or maybe he…

No; no. He definitely couldn't.

He grunted, cursed one more time, and then headed for the steps.

As much as he hated it, he needed help.

******

_72 HOURS EARLIER…_

Derek had always been territorial. Whether it was his house or his car or his food, they belonged to him, and he didn't like to share. Casey—although she'd pummel him with a thousand textbooks if he even suggested it—was no exception.

It wasn't intentional. It hadn't happened overnight. But, somewhere between the first and one-thousandth fight, between the bickering and the yelling, between the crowded bathrooms and the angry car rides, between the burning of their retinas from glaring and staring at each other so damn much, an attachment had formed.

Less bickering, more bantering. Warmer smiles. Softer smirks. Baked treats and occasional good advice.

No hand holding. No kissing.

They didn't even like each other half the time.

But, it was there. And he didn't like to share.

--

One step in the house and, damn, there was Noel again. That scruffy, dorky poet guy he used to almost like. That was until he started touching Casey. _No,' dancing' with Casey, _Derek reminded himself bitterly. Casey's words, not his. As far as he was concerned, their 'dancing' was much too close to his favorite backseat pastime for him to like.

Pressed up bodies and spin moves and holds.

_SLAM._

The hinges shrieked and so did Casey as the front door shut.

"Gah!" She spun out of Noel's arms, mouth agape as she turned to the broody hockey player, "De-rek! What is your damage?"

He ignored her, his face shadowed as he shoved his sports bag into the closet. She was wearing spandex. A tank top. Her hair was down like he liked it. He cursed under his breath.

"Um, hello? I'm right here, talking to you."

He said nothing and pulled the scarf from off his neck. Her cheeks were red and he knew it drove her crazy when he didn't pay her attention. But, hell, it drove him crazy when Noel touched her. Granted, she didn't know that--but, still; it drove him crazy.

"Just ignore him," Noel said, earning a dark glance from Derek, "You can't expect 'Your Majesty' to be bothered with social peasants like ourselves."

Casey shrugged, but didn't look at Noel, instead focusing rather sullenly on "her Majesty." Derek unzipped his coat and answered him."And, yet, here you are, Ned: bothering me."

"Newsflash: my name's Noel. No, reason you should get that I guess, what with me only being over here every other day. I realize you must be really busy with those pucks and sticks and pucks and sticks…"

"Riiight. That's rich coming from a dude who spends his spare time in a tutu groping my stepsister."

"De-rek! Stop it."

He blinked. Her palm was on his chest and for the first time he realized he'd been moving—rather menacingly—toward Noel as he spoke. He brushed her hand away. But, not before letting his rough fingers linger over hers.

She watched wordlessly as he stalked up the steps.

--

"Hey."

Derek glanced up from his computer and offered a stiff nod. "Hey."

Casey was leaning on his doorframe, swallowed up in an old hoodie and those same stupid stretch pants. He forced his eyes above her neckline.

"What do you want, Spacey?"

"To know what's wrong with you," she answered, slowly making her way across his bedroom. She ended perched on the edge of his desk, legs crossed towards him. "You've been acting assier than usual."

"Well," he shrugged, "I am an ass. We done here?"

His laptop shut instantly, almost catching his fingers. "Not even close."

"Right," Derek muttered. He knew that tone. He knew that look. This was going to be one of _those_ talks.

"We need to talk," Casey said, confirming his suspicions, "About Noel."

"Who?" Derek asked, arching a brow and adding a smirk just because he knew it'd piss her off.

"My _dance_ _partner_," she said with a tight voice.

"Oh, oh,you mean _Ned?_"

"Right; 'Ned,'" Casey echoed dryly. "Whatever you insist on calling him, you need to back off. It's not funny anymore and I can tell it's starting to get to him."

"Case, come on. He's not an eight year old. You don't have to come up here and defend him like I'm trying to steal his lunch money or something."

"Fine, but are you sure _you're_ not the eight year old?"

When Derek rolled his eyes and looked away, Casey grasped his chin, pinching with her thumb and index finger, and pulling his gaze back. She leaned in. "Look. I think it's uber sweet n' all that you've suddenly grown one single, obnoxious protective bone in your body for me; but, I'm a 'big girl' and I need you to back off so I can get this routine down."

"Big girl, huh?" Derek said, slipping back from her grasp, "Does that mean no more diapers now?"

"Hilarious," Casey deadpanned.

"And, I'm not being 'protective, okay? I'm being annoyed. This guy is so obviously trying to get into your sparkly ballerina pants it's ridiculous. Even I can see it, and I'm oblivious."

"Derek!" she hissed

He knew that 'Derek'. He knew that blush. He'd crossed a line.

"Noel is my _partner_; that's it!"

She flew from the desk and for some reason Derek instinctively rose with her. He hulked over her, using his height in a way he knew aggravated her. "He has his sweaty little boy hands all over you, and you call that dancing?"

"Yeah, actually, I do. As opposed to _miming_ which it would be if we never touched each other, you moron." She stabbed her finger in his chest and he winched, but didn't back down, "Noel respects me. Noel helps me. And, yes, Noel _touches _me. But, unlike you_…_" another stab, "It's not automatically a prelude to tongue wrestling in his backseat."

_Touche,_ Derek thought. But, still, it pissed him off.

"Right." His voice lowered darkly and he knew he was being an ass. " 'Cause I'm sure you'd like it somewhere more romantic, huh? Like on a picnic blanket with doves crying in the background."

"_Oh—_Ungh!!"

Her cheeks exploded with red. Her breath quickened. She looked like she might slap him. Literally slap the hell out of him right there.

"You are so classless it's disgusting."

She was strutting out of his room before he could even blink.

"Watch out for him, Casey," he called after her, "He's not as harmless and clueless as you might think."

_SLAM._

The door swung shut. Her this time, not him.

--

_PRESENT TIME_

Asking his ex-girlfriend for help with another girl was awkward. Even if the girl was his stepsister, it still demonstrated a level care and attention he'd never quite mustered up for her—at least according to her many, whiny complaints.

"Well, look who finally grew a heart," Sally said, yet not meanly, as she stirred the coffee before her. She and Derek were hidden in a back booth of the coffee shop, their prime spot for taking unofficial and unpermitted breaks on shift.

"Cute," Derek said. "Now are you going to give me some advice or diss me for an hour?"

Her eyes lit. "Actually, that's tempting; but I'll save it for later." Derek rolled his eyes as she leaned forward on her elbows, "It seems pretty obvious to me. You've got to fix this yourself, Derek. No amount of explaining or groveling…"

"I do _not_ grovel."

"…is going to make up for what you did. You're gonna have to _show_ her you care about her feelings."

He snorted. "I don't."

"Or at least that you care about her," Sally said tiredly.

His smirk dulled, then dwindled. "Fine," he muttered, "So what do I do?"

--

_24 HOURS AGO_

Derek glanced through the peep hole and rolled his eyes. Noel: the UnSuprise of the century. With a sigh he opened the door.

"Hey, Cas—" Noel faltered. "Oh, Derek, it's…you."

Derek flashed a large grin. "Neddy boy. How nice of you to stop by. I just was saying how I _never_ get to see you anymore."

Noel rolled his eyes, craning his neck to glance over Derek's shoulders. "Is Casey in? We're supposed to be practicing."

"Practicing, huh?" Derek asked, leaning on the door frame and getting good and comfortable as he blocked the entrance, "Funny; it looks a little less like practicing, and a lot more like you trying to score with my stepsis to me."

Noel's cheeks pinked. A shade of anger and embarrassment. "It's not like that. I respect her."

"Right," Derek muttered, "So, I've heard. Too bad I don't buy it."

Noel sighed and moved to walk past him; but, Derek simply straightened, arms crossed and not budging.

"Are you going to let me in, or not?"

"Um, let me think?" Derek titled his side to side, face scrunched in mock contemplation, "I'm gonna go with 'no', Ned."

"Look, dude," Noel said, stepping forward. His voice was definitely cracking now, "You need to back off, okay? What me and Casey do is none of your business."

Derek made the sound of a buzzer. "Anhh! Try again. You groping Casey in my house day in and day out is _definitely_ my business." He leaned towards him, lowering his voice, "I'm not fooled by your nice boy, poet, pansy act, okay? I wrote the book on macking and I can spot an amateur act a mile away."

Derek's hand was on Noel's collar now, but he smacked it away. Then he gave Derek his own shove.

"You are the biggest idiot I've ever met. And, luckily, Casey's smart enough to see that, too. So, go ahead and keep harassing me. But, when you're looking and when you're not looking, and in your house and out of your house, I'm gonna put my hands wherever the heck I want—_ahh-unngh!"!_

There was a burning in Derek's fist. Oh, right, it must have been that whole punching Noel thing he'd done without thinking.

--

"You've never punched _anyone_, ever, in your entire life! Not even that fridge guy whose brother beat up Edwin. And, now, _now_, of all times, you decide to pummel Casey's dance partner?!"George cried in Derek's bedroom.

The teen lay dejectedly on his mattress, with an exasperated Nora sitting at his desk, and George wearing angry holes into his carpet..

"For the last time," Derek said tightly, "He started it."

"Right," Nora said, "Casey''s ninety pound dance partner shoves you and you, the captain of the hockey team, punch his lights out. That's really a fair fight, Derek."

"I didn't say it was fair. I said he started it," Derek grumbled.

"You do realize you're grounded forever?" George asked, his face dark red, "I mean literally _forever. _Your great grandchildren will be grounded."

Derek rolled his eyes and Nora sighed, cradling her face in her hands. "Noel broke his ankle when he fell. Casey's dance recital...it's pretty much ruined. I mean, it's only two months away they've already been practicing for six weeks. Any guy remotely interested in dance has probably already been snatched up."

"She'll get over it," Derek mumbled, although he couldn't quite meet their eyes as he said it, "It's not the end of the world."

"No," George said tiredly, "Just the end of her dream. Congratulations, Derek. It looks like you've finally won your silly, childish war with Casey."

--

_PRESENT TIME_

Somewhere between her twelfth and thirteenth kleenex, Casey heard her door creak open. Which made absolutely no sense, considering she'd locked it and all. She didn't know how ,or why, but she knew it had to be him. "De-rek!"

It was him, she discovered as she yanked the door open completely, revealing a crouched over Derek fiddling with her lock.

"What are you doing?!"

"Making you open the stupid door."

"Pfft."

Casey huffed at him and stomped back towards her bed, where she collapsed dramatically. Derek rolled his eyes, but followed behind her, reaching to retrieve the discarded tissue box on his way. The mattress dipped under his weight and he reached over her, from where her back was facing him, and placed the tissues by her head. "Go ahead. Cry me a river. I deserve it."

"I'm not crying over you, you ass," Casey said, sniffling, "I'm crying because of my senior recital. Which you singlehandedly sabotaged, 'cause, hey, I guess you figured you just hadn't tormented me enough for the last three years."

"Get over yourself," he said sharply. He could see her stiffen, but he kept on, "This was about me hating Noel, not you." His hand was hovering over her shoulder, almost grazing her skin; but it faltered at the last moment. "Don't cry," he said lamely.

"I hate you," she hissed.

He flinched and his voice was firm, almost defensive. "No, you don't."

She wouldn't turn to him. She wouldn't take it back.

Then..."No." She sighed. "I don't."

Derek sighed then, too, and some of the tightness left his shoulders as he leaned over her. "Duh," he whispered.

The bed creaked and she spun to him suddenly, almost knocking Derek off his balance as she spat, "I don't know why though, when you treat me horribly." She slapped his shoulder. More like smacked it. He knew she could hit him harder if she wanted.

He winched, because then she _did_ hit him harder. "Ow."

He rubbed his arm, and she chewed at her lip, yet didn't apologize. They stared at each other for a moment, before Derek spoke again.

"Sally says I should dance with you."

"Is Sally smoking crack?" Casey mumbled dryly, her fingers pulling stray threads from her quilt.

"Possibly," he said with a smirk. Casey wasn't smiling though, so then neither was he. "We should...I mean...why not?"

"Because I can't stand you, you're irresponsible, and you can't dance."

"Woah, don't hold it all in there," Derek mumbled.

His tone was light, but his his eyes were heavier from her words. Casey sighed, and despite herself, reached and stroked by his knee, letting her fingers trail unconsciously to his quads. Derek tried to focus on her words and not her hand.

"I think...it's just over," she said.

"You can't give up," Derek, his hand instinctively removing hers and setting it on the pillow so he could think straight.

"Why? 'Cause you'll be grounded forever?"

"I'm grounded forever regardless. Probably beyond forever," he said dryly.

"Then why do you even care?"

He knew that look. He hated that look. She was getting all LifeTime movie moment on him.

"You know why," he mumbled. "Let's just...try it, or whatever. If it doesn't work, then...let's just try it."

Casey let out a breathy laugh and stared up at him. "You're really serious, aren't you?"

He nodded and she shifted up so they were eye level on the bed. She studied his eyes and Derek felt like he was being scanned by a robot. "We have to practice every day," Casey said finally, her voice hardening into her most driven tone, " Because we have a lot of ground to cover. And, you'll have to try, really try; no goofing off." He quirked a brow. "Fine. Less goofing off."

"It's a deal."

"And, you have to be on time."

"It's a deal," he said again.

"And, no backing out."

"It's. A. Deal."

He held out his hand.

"I'm trusting you," Casey said, before holding out her hand, too, and taking his.

--

End prologue.

--

As, if it weren't obvious, all feedback is appreciated. :)


	2. Chapter 1

Wow; thank you for the feedback! Nothing makes a fanfic writer happier (except maybe cash, but that's another matter). There's no substantial dancing in this part, but there's a lot to come in the coming chapters.

--

Part One

--

Casey "trusting" him apparently meant harassing him all day, nonstop. From his bedroom to the bathroom, from the kitchen to the car, from their homeroom to his math class—which she wasn't even enrolled in--and finally, now, in the hallway, she hadn't left him alone.

"Four o'clock today," she said, "In the auditorium, don't be-"

"Late or you'll hang me upside down by my hockey laces, got it."

"Okay, so four o'clock," she said again, "And don't wear jeans-

"Or flip-flops, got it."

"And, no pressure, but-"

"This appointment's really important." Derek reached out for her, his palms setting firmly on her shoulders, "I _got it_."

"Okay," she let out a deep breath, and rested her own hands over his wrists, "You got it?"

"I got it."

He turned her about then, so his hands rested on the back of her shoulders, and gingerly pushed her forwards. "Now go; before I change my mind."

Worry spread on her cheeks and then to her eyes, "Oh, god, you're not gonna change your mind, are you?"

"_No. _I was kidding. I'll be there. Just go."

"Okay," Casey said with a shaky smile. They took maybe five full steps forward before she turned and said, "I'm-"

"Trusting me. Yeah, I got it."

--

"Dude, what's with the Casey patrol?" Sam asked as Casey 'surreptitiously' flashed a "four sign" to Derek across the hallway.

Derek sighed and slipped a notebook into his locker. "It's this stupid 'Dancing with the Dorks' thing she's got me doing. She 'trusts' me so much she thinks I'm gonna bail out."

"Well, aren't you?" Ralph asked seriously, "Ballet's not exactly 'gangsta' of you, D."

"It's not ballet," Derek said defensively, his back stiffening.

Sam quirked his eyebrow. "Dude. You're really gonna do this?"

"Yes. I'm doing this. I told her I'm doing this and I'm doing this." He shut his locker—hard—and sent them a sharp look. "Is that a problem?"

"No." "Peachy keen."

--

"You sure Derek's up for this?" Emily asked Casey from the other side of the hallway. Emily was leaning up against the stairwell, while Casey watched Derek anxiously. "I mean, I love D—truly, I do—but he's not exactly Mr. Reliable when it comes to these sorts of things."

"I know," Casey said with a sigh, "But, he said he's doing this, so…" she shrugged, "I guess he's doing this."

"Then why do you look so nervous?"

"Honestly? It's not so much him—even though it's also obviously always him—it's the instructor."

"_Oh_." Emily winched. "You mean…"

--

" 'Madame Missy,'" Sam was saying, "The new dance instructor."

"Is she really French?" Ralph asked with a goofy smile.

Sam rolled his eyes. "No, people just call her that, because she's uptight or whatever." He turned back to Derek, "Anyway, she's supposed be kind of 'off', if you know what I mean."

"Right," Derek mumbled, "Because this just wasn't sucking enough already."

--

"As if this didn't suck enough already," Casey said, rolling her eyes.

"So what…?" Emily asked, "Is she going to like 'grade you' or something."

Casey's scrunched her eyebrows. "I really don't know. With Noel, I sort of got a free pass because my old instructor knew my work, and Noel could, you know, reasonably coordinate himself. But, now that I'm switching partners like this, Missy wants to meet both of us personally'."

"That sounds like a big bag of not-fun."

"And a bag of stale chips."

Casey checked her watch and sighed. Across the hall Derek was doing the same. She glanced at him, said a quick goodbye to Emily, and slowly, drearily made her way to the center of the hallway, where Derek met her.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Nope. Not all."

"Great. Me neither."

--

Sam was right: 'Madame' Missy wasn't weird; she was just ' kind of off'. There was the cane for starters, a long, red, shinny stick —which didn't at all seem to match the tidy, silver bun of her hair. She smiled often, but it looked more like a bothered grimace than anything else. And, there was always a pair of black glasses hanging low on her neck, although she never seemed to use them.

Derek whispered by Casey's ear. "Shouldn't a dance instructor be able to dance?"

She answered him with an elbow and he grunted as they reached the stage. Missy stood atop it, her gaze flashing to the clock. "You're on time."

Casey smiled and offered a not-so-modest shrug. "Well, I do pride myself in being promp-"

"To be early is to be on time," Missy said over her, "To be _on time_ is to be late. And, to be late is to be unacceptable. Do not let this happen again."

Casey's mouth dropped open as Missy slowly, but determinedly made her way down the steps. Derek coughed over a laugh.

"You are Casey McDonald, correct?"

"That's my name, don't wear it out." Casey faltered under Missy's steady, unamused gaze. "Yeah, that's, uh, my name."

Missy nodded tightly. "Mrs. Carlson assures me that you are one of the district's most promising dancers."

"Casey?" Derek blurted, "We are talking about _her_, right?" he asked, pointing to her. "This little thing?"

"_Yes_, we are," Missy said plainly. She watched the young man curiously, "Have you not seen your partner dance?"

"Well, yeah, I mean…" Derek trailed off slightly, "…well, I guess not on stage exactly..."

"Right," said Casey dryly, "Because who has time for my dance recitals when _24_'s on?"

Casey huffed and looked at him sideways, waiting for the annoying insult or quip. None came. Just his curious brown eyes on her.

"And, what is your name?" Missy asked, pulling Derek's gaze back from Casey.

"Derek. Derek Venturi."

Missy's lips pursed as she glanced at his apparel, his countenance. "Are you a dancer?"

He snorted. "Uh, no."

"It's very apparent," Missy murmured, "You have horrific posture."

"Thanks; I try."

"_Derek_," Casey hissed.

Yet, they both ignored her, Derek watching as Madame Missy inspected him carefully. "Do you play any sports?"

"Hockey," Derek said, "Team Captain."

"Mmmhmm," Missy said, making some sort of mental note. "And do you think you'd be able to lift Miss McDonald?"

Derek smirked, eyes traveling mischievously to Casey. "I was _just_ doing that the other day."

"No, Derek," Casey said. Her finger shot up at him, and she sent him a cross look as she stepped back, "That's not what she means and you know I hate when you_--ugh!_"

His hands were on her hips and she was over his shoulder in seconds, her limbs swinging indignantly. Derek turned to Missy, Casey still aboard, and nodded with a smug smirk. "That good enough for you?"

Missy's lips thinned. She didn't smile, yet she didn't frown. "That's enough. You may set her down."

"With pleasure," Derek said.

Casey's feet hit the ground and she 'thanked' him for his efforts with a smack. "Was that _really_ necessary?"

"Yes; it was," Missy said. "He must be reasonably strong if he is to be your anchor."

"Her what-now?" Derek asked.

But, Missy moved on without him, her cane tapping thoughtfully. "There are things you must do before you are acceptable."

"A-acc-acceptable?" Casey sputtered, as if she could barely stand someone questioning whether she or she was. "I don't understa-"

"You," Missy said, pointing to Derek's befuddled form, "You will teach her one of your…hockey moves. You," she said, now pointing to Casey, "You will teach him a respectable dance move. When you are able to do this, I will know you are teachable. Until then, you are dismissed."

"You can't be serious," Casey said, panic creeping into her voice as Missy walked away.

"Yes, actually, I can. And I am very often."

She nodded politely and then shut the door behind her.

--

"Well, she was delightful ," Derek deadpanned as he and Casey reached the parking lot. Casey had been near speed-walking, her hair swinging angrily behind her, ever since they left the auditorium.

"How dare she," Casey said, "How _dare_ she."

"I know. I mean a red cane with blue nail polish-"

"This is not funny," Casey hissed, spinning back so fast they almost collided, "These are my dreams, Derek. This is _not funny._"

She punched into his chest—hard—and it hurt—a lot—but Derek braced himself, and grabbed her by the shoulders, restraining her. Her face was pinched up and red, and he knew that look, and the wet eyes that always followed. "Not funny. I get it," he said firmly, gently.

Her hand reached over the bend of his elbow and tugged slightly. "You got it?" she whispered.

"I got it."

They were about a foot away from a hug. He could just sort of pull her to him, make sure she wouldn't cry, but...

No.

He stepped back. "So are we gonna do this, or not?"

--

Derek and Casey spent a lot of time staring at each other—pretty much every time they were in the same room. So he knew her stares. From the angry, steely blue to that soft, open gaze.

This stare he didn't know. And, he wasn't sure he liked it.

Derek straightened instinctively as she circled him, eyes steady, studious with each slow step she took around him. He swallowed.

"What, uh, do you want to me do?"

"_Dancing_ would be a good start."

She hit" play" on the boom box.

"Right, right, like uh maybe the Cabbage Patch," he said, and he realized his body and nerves were moving on their own,"Or uh, 'parking the car'. Yeah, yeah, that's right." His hands formed a steering wheel, and his head bopped side to side, "I'm parking that car. Oh, yeah, in reverse. Watch out curb! Or, or maybe I could breakdance…?"

"Annnnd scene," Casey said, striking the off switch. "What the heck was that?"

Derek faltered. "Uh, me dancing?"

"Derek, you promised me you'd try. Really try."

"That _is_ me trying." He gestured to himself, his hand sweeping across his chest. "This is it. This is what I'm working with."

"But, but…" Casey nose twisted and she shook her head, "You mean all those times you were kidding around, doing the robot and the fish hook…you weren't kidding?"

"That's my best material!"

"Oh, my god." Casey took in a long, long breath and collapsed back on the couch. "I think I might need to sit down."

"You are sitting down."

"Oh? Well, that's good."

Derek frowned, arms folding somewhat protectively over his chest. "Well, geez, it's not like it's hopeless, or something."

"No. You are definitely hopeless." She rubbed tiredly at her forehead. "That was bad. Bad, bad, bad-"

"Alright, Simon Cowell, I get the point."

Casey blew out a breath, pushed herself up from the couch, and chanted, "Alright, I can do this, I can do this. I can make this work."

"Don't you mean _we_ can make this work?"

"Right, that's what I said."

He winched. It wasn't that he cared about what she thought of him exactly, it was just…

"I'm not brain dead," he said to her, his voice carrying a little more force than he was used to, "I can do this. I mean a monkey could do what you do. Just put it in tight pants and pink accessories and let it spin around."

Casey's mouth dropped open and a different, angrier red flushed her face. "Alright, _monkey_; let's you see you dance."

She walked over and stabbed the "play" button.

"I'm sure you can follow this with no problem," she said over her shoulder.

"Yeah, well, pfft."

"Watch my feet. 1…and…2…and…3" and then Derek sort got lost after the fourth step, her feet tapping in a pink blur across the carpet. She threw in one last spin—probably just to annoy him—before turning back to him expectantly.

"Go ahead, Captain," she whispered as she brushed by him, "Give it a shot."

He stiffened at her breath on his neck, and he turned with her, glowering back at her smug smirk. "You know I can't do that."

"Why not, monkey?"

She sipped casually at her water bottle and watched him with a cocked brow.

"Are you always this emasculating with your dance partners?"

"Nope." She reached over and gave his left cheek a good pinch, "Just with you, babe."

"Yeah, well, now the fun's over, princess. 'cause it's my turn."

--

This is a hockey stick."

Casey sent him a cross look as he took it from her. "Gee, D, you really _are _good."

"Yeah, actually, I am."

Not that he needed to prove that, he told himself. He just wanted to tick her off.

"This," he said, holding up the puck, "Is a puck."

"Could you slow down a bit?" Casey said dryly, "I'm getting a little lost."

He ignored her.

"This," he said, dropping the puck to the ice, "Is a deke."

Casey's eyes widened, and she slid back, watching the puck dance in front of him, then through his legs and behind him, then to his left and sharply back to his right. He leaned down and picked it up for her.

"Alright, princess. Your turn."

"Ugh, this is stupid," Casey said, cheeks burning as she tossed it back at him,"Madame Missy's obviously lost her mind. This has nothing to do with dancing; it's just some stupid hockey trick."

"But, it's not just 'stupid'," Derek said, and there was actually a thrust of defensiveness behind his voice, "It's mine. It's my thing. I'm pretty much 99 percent _this_."

He squared his shoulders and pinned her with his gaze, as if daring her to shoot him down.

"Fine," Casey hissed, "You're a good hockey player, Derek. Really, _really_ good. Happy?"

He was happy. But then not so much as she skated angrily to other side of the rink. He sighed, and let his stick drop to the ice, too, as he followed after her.

"You've never said anything about my dancing," Casey said, pulling at her skates, "Like you just think it's some dumb hobby or something.

Derek's eyes widened. This was not the turn of conversation he expected. He squinted. "And, you've been to—what—two of my hockey games?"

"All three championships." She held up three manicured fingers, "When have you ever gotten off of your _ass_ to come and see me?"

"Please," Derek said dismissively, although his eyes flickered somewhat uncertainly, "I see you all the time, doing the Macarena up and down the steps."

"It's not the same," she hissed at him.

Both her skates were off now, she was pulling her shoes on, and Derek just stood there. He wanted her to leave—she got on his freaking nerves for god's sake—but, there was this part of him...

"Well, you've never asked me to go."

"I'm not going to 'ask you to go'," she said indignantly.

He huffed. "Then how am I supposed to know you want me to go?"

"You just should."

She stood then and Derek straightened. When she lingered for a moment, eyes settling moodily on him, he threw up his hands.

"Well, fine," he said, "Dance for me."

"What? Like a stripper, or something?"

"If that's your 'genre'," he said with air quotes.

"Ungh, I can't stand you."

Her voice had thickened slightly when she'd said it and Derek sighed and trudged the rest of the way out of the rink, "Casey, wait-"

"Why are you even doing this?" She blurted, turning on him, "Why are even you helping me? If you're gonna be an ass; fine, be an ass. But, be consistent."

"And, you're consistent?" he answered with raised brows, "You act all sad and 'damselly', and all 'O, Derek, I need you so bad for my lame recital', but then as soon we walk out the school, you're the pycho drill sergeant from dancing hell. If you need my help; fine, need my help. But, be consistent."

Casey huffed and smacked his arm, like he was being silly or something, but there was nothing silly about this at all. "I need you, okay?" she barked at him, "I need you for this. But, you are not going to be Superman to my Lois Lane, or-or Spiderman to my lame, helpless blonde chick in those movies. I am not helpless. I'm a _phenomenal _dancer."

"I don't believe you," Derek said lowly.

"You're just saying that to tick me off so I'll show you."

"Is it working?"

She yanked off her pink winter coat. "Yes."

Derek swallowed as she shoved the fabric into his chest, his hand absently gripping it as he followed her angry strut. His stomach tightened with apprehension and bottomless curiosity as he watched her stretch.

"This is from my sophomore recital," she said. "The first of many you missed."

"You are the grudgiest, cattiest chick I've ever met."

"Oh, just shut up and sit down."

She shoved into his chest, and he made a small "oomph" as he fell back unto the bench.

--

Casey dancing angry was freaking amazing. Or maybe it was just Casey dancing period. He wasn't really sure anymore, because he'd never, ever seen her like this. Sure, she'd always been passionate, intense. Sure he'd spent more time than he'd ever admit watching her legs and her hips and curves. But, as he watched her now it wasn't about drive, or discipline, or even about how hot she was--and damn she was hot--it was just...

"Wow."

Casey's cheeks heated again, a soft shade of pink, as he stood from the bench, her coat falling to the wayside.

"Wow," he said again.

"Well, it doesn't matter," she said, her eyes dropping self-consciously, "This isn't going to work out anyway."

"If you could _that_," Derek said, handing her her skates, "You can learn how to deke. Trust me."

--

--


End file.
